


Talon in the Belfry

by nxttime



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is a good dad in this, Gen, I wanted to try my hand at something like this, So this is a sort-of AU I guess?, Talon needs a hug, Talon!AU, You'll see who the Talon is :D, almost forgot to mention that, so please be nice, thank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime/pseuds/nxttime
Summary: Talon shifts its gaze back to the twinkling lights of Gotham and her inhabitants. “What is a Talon without its Owl?”Or, that Talon!AU nobody asked for but I wanted to write.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU I’ve had in my head for the longest. I’ve got all the chapters planned out, all that’s left to do is write ‘em. This is gonna be 20/21 chapters even.
> 
> About the AU: Technical reverse Bat-bros, but the only change I’m making is Jason is 17, Dick is 15, Tim is 12, and Damian isn’t in the picture. You guys’ll find out who’s the Talon soon, don’t worry about it. For now, s'a secret ;) 
> 
> Now. Onto the fic! Enough rambling!

> “Objectification is above all exteriorization, the alienation of spirit from itself.”
> 
> -Nikolai Berdyaev

* * *

* * *

 

_Prologue_

It is Talon.

Before it was Talon, the Grandmaster says Talon had a name. Grandmaster also said that if Talon proved itself, Talon would get its name back like Uriah and William did. Like *Charles, Talon’s Handler and Trainer, did. As far as it knows, it has been Talon for…

It does not know. After Talon’s first Outing with Charles, it was frozen. It was eventually awaken, but when, Talon does not know. All Talon knows is that when it first laid eyes on the Court, it was tiny and thin.

It had seen its reflection once before becoming Talon, and it remembers sharp blue eyes and tan skin with hollow cheeks and skin stretched thin over bone. Enough time has passed that, by current day, Talon is tall with lithe muscles across its body. Its eyes are vibrant gold, now, and its skin marginally lighter than when it was a fledgling.

Enough time has passed that Talon has become successful in all its missions and assignments with utmost precision.

Every now and again, whenever Talon is unfrozen, it will see its old Handler, Charles*. The Court allows them out together as rarely as they encounter, and those few missions are Talon’s best and favorites.

On those scarce assignments, Charles will talk to Talon about his own missions. Which is nice, because Talon is never allowed to speak. Not to the Court, not in the Nest; only to targets, is it allowed to speak to. Even then, it is only to give a death sentence, and it is quite boring to have one-sided conversation.

Killing people isn’t the only thing Charles updates Talon on, however.

Charles tells Talon of his escape plans, and how they are coming along. Charles knows Talon won’t breathe word of his plan to the Court or any other assassin, and Talon never intends to. Talon truly and honestly hopes Charles escapes the Court successfully. However, where Talon will not rat out its friend, it will not aid Charles in the development of the plan. Charles claims to understand, but wishes Talon would join him now as they stand overlooking Gotham’s skyline from the top of a cross, which sits perched above a cathedral.

Talon glances over at its previous Handler. “Charlie,” it drawls, “you know I will not join you; I am Talon. I belong to the Court of Owls. I am the Court’s tool, not an independent being.”

Charles sighs and meets Talon’s gaze. “But you were, once. If only you could remember. Don’t you want to govern your own life? To do what it is you want instead of the Court’s bidding?”

“How will I do what it is I wish to, if I know not what I want? All I can remember is the Court; all I have known with current memory is the Court.” Talon shifts its gaze back to the twinkling lights of Gotham and her inhabitants. “What is a Talon without its Owl?”

Charles frowns to himself, but before the elder named Talon could speak, Talon interrupted with a question. Talon does not want its only friend to tear himself up over things of which are out of his control. No, Charles taught it better.

“To whom will you flee to?”

A chuckle is Talon’s reward for its efforts. “Slick aren’t you? Very well.” Another chuckle slips through Charles’ lips. “Geez, could you make me seem more of a coward?”

A smirk. “Yes.”

“'Course you can.” Charles shakes his head. “If you must know, I plan on seeking out Gotham’s Knight.”

Intrigued, Talon folded its arms over its chest as an eyebrow rose under the mask. “Gotham’s Knight?”

Charles nodded. “You’ve heard of the Batman, yes?”

Talon itself then nodded. It had indeed heard of the Batman. The Caped Crusader. The Dark Knight. Gotham’s Knight. It had even fought the older Vigilante.

To say the least, it had been disappointing. Sloppy form. Needed improvement. Talon had told the Caped Crusader as much before melting into the shadows to return to the Court. It does not know why it didn’t kill the man. To kill the Batman then would have been rather simple, all things considered. Instead, whenever they meet, Talon gives Batman singular tips on improvement.

Talon is not sure why.

“We have met before,” it answered.

“Rumors have begun to spread. He intends on taking down the Court. To do that, he will need insider information, will he not?”

It now understands. “He will.” Flashing a sharp grin, Talon said, “Brilliant. For your sake, Charlie, I hope this plan of yours works.”

Charles flashes Talon a bright, toothy grin. “We should be finishing up. The Court will soon grow suspicious.”

Both unnamed and named Talons leapt from the cross, flipping and twisting so professionally, if anyone saw them, they’d think the two to be circus performers.

And, if you listened hard enough, you’d have heard the named Talon say, “And it wouldn’t be fleeing, it would be tactically and wisely retreating.”

After that, if you listened even harder, you would hear one of Gotham’s rarest sounds.

The sound of a Talon’s laughter.


	2. I'm always ready for a war again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter one! There’s actually no hint to who the Talon is, no matter how strong your belief in your suspicion becomes. Trust me when I say this, because I know for a fact you’ll be like “Wow she made it so obvious. Smh, I was hoping for a longer mystery.” 
> 
> Just trust me.
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

* * *

_Chapter One_

Talon stares up at the ceiling.

Talon is currently re-counting the cracks on the otherwise smooth surface disinterestedly. It is sprawled on its back against the semi-cushiony surface of the mattress located against the center of the wall in the back of the room. This room Talon claims whenever it is both frozen and unfrozen. Why the room has a bed is beyond Talon - it does not require any sleep though it can if it wants to.

Talon is not sure if it wants to sleep or not.

On one hand, sleeping would be a better alternative to being bored, though Talon does not dream. Sleep also improves Talon’s performance, despite the lack of need.

On the other hand, Talon is allowed to wander as it so pleases around the Nest, so sleep would not necessarily be the only solution to Talon’s current issue. But Talon has already found three places it could hide or simply think in, and it doubts the Owls would have missed four hidden places in the Nest.

Talon pushes itself up off the bed, leaning back on its arms as it surveys the room.

There is not really much to see that it has not already. By this point, Talon has the room memorized completely, and it does not memorize things easily.

Closing its eyes, Talon begins to picture the room in its mind, mentally re-creating it.

The door to the room is on the far left side of the room, a measured inch and three quarters away from the corner wall. Beside the door rests a low wooden table, with a maroon footrest-like seat to accompany it. About five steps to that is the wood dresser where Talon uniforms lie neatly folded - all of which uniforms are identical to the one Talon presently wears.

On the wall above the dresser is a mirror with the Talon mask hanging off the lone hook to the right of the reflective glass.

On the other side of the room, a desk faces the the stone wall with a lone, leather-covered notebook with both a pen and fountain pen on either side of it. (The fountain pen is there because Talon prefers calligraphy.) The wall that Talon’s bed faces is practically made of bookshelves.

Underneath Talon’s bed is a silver metal trunk full of weapons, all of which are extremely lethal. In the corner of the wall closest to Talon’s bed on the right, are two training dummies with several holes in them.

High on the walls are candle-lit lights; two on each wall. There is no restroom, so Talon would have to go to the restrooms down the corridor should it have the need.

Eyes opening, Talon slides off the bed and, with completely silent footfalls, approaches the bookshelves and scans the spines of the books. Talon can read easily in all the languages it speaks, so Talon has books in English, Romanian, Japanese, and even Gaelic, to name a few. The books are ones of history and such of the like. Talon has read all the books at least three times and it sees little to no point in recording and having the accounts.

Why bother writing down terrible and life-changing events, if the same things would occur over again later on in life? Talon has books on psychology and behavioral traits amidst the “history” texts, because the Court wants Talon to be able to analyze a situation based merely off body language.

As if Talon already couldn't.

Talon stares at the titles that look back at it. It has, as previously stated, already read the books before it a minimum of three times, including those Talon finds boring, time-consuming, and extremely uninteresting.

It really does not feel like re-reading on any “history” or the brain, as of present. Instead, Talon turns its head towards the desk, where the notebook patiently rests in waiting.

Talon can write, it just does not do it often. All it writes down are logs on recent missions and assignments in grave detail, using a format Talon itself developed. It still has not added the most recent assignment with Charles involved, but, again, Talon simply does not feel like adding in the log right now.

With a mental huff, Talon turned its back to the bookshelves, folding its arms over its chest as it gazed around the room.

The room, as usual, is spotless with no mess littering Talon’s personal quarters. Talon, for some reason and impulse it still does not understand, keeps all its belongings in as beat condition it can maintain. Even the uniform and weapons, Talon attempts to preserve.

The uniform will wear and tear, Talon knows this, but it still tries in vain to prevent the actions. The weapons dull, but Talon sharpens them whenever it suspects the beginnings of a blunt blade in retaliation.

Again, Talon does not understand why it does this.

Talon’s gaze lands on the dresser and Talon makes its way towards the furnishing with deft movements. Once it is standing before the wooden dresser, Talon looks into the mirror above.

A golden eye stares back with the other eye torn between colors. Blue fights fiercely for its small corner of the iris with gold keeping it cornered in the bottom left of Talon’s left eye. The little remnants of blue left is not the same shade of blue from Talon’s earlier memories: this shade of blue is much closer to green than the teal color Talon remembers.

It makes Talon wonder just what the Court did to it for its eye to change color so drastically. Yes, Talon knows of the immortalization process, but does electrum normally affect the eye color too?

Talon is unsure. It should not be questioning anything, either. Previous eye color means nothing now. Besides, as far as Talon knows, every single Talon has golden eyes, so it very well could be an effect of the electrum. Talon is not special just because a small fraction of the old color remains; maybe it takes longer for the color to change because Talon has been frozen for years (months?) and the cold slows the process.

Talon should not dwell on its eyes, so it will not any longer. It is Talon of the Court of Owls, and eye color does not matter to an object. Tools do not have eye color period.

Yet, Talon cannot help but dwell on its image for a few more minutes as it stares at its hair.

A shock of white rests amidst an otherwise ocean of inky dark unkempt hair on Talon’s head. The longest white strands reach just below Talon’s brows and the shortest locks of hair stop along the middle of Talon’s forehead. The white of its black hair, Grandmaster once explained, comes from both stubbornness and what is suspected to be extreme severity of head traumas. Although Talon heals from practically any and every wound, the patch of white hair refuses to return to its prior shade. In that way, Talon is unique among its peers.

But, again, Talon is an object. It should not dwell on appearance for it is one of many tools, and is easily tortured, frozen, and replaced, should it truly displease any Owl, not to mention the Grandmaster.

So Talon walks away from the dresser with the repercussions in mind as it sits at the small table to input the mission report/log from a mere few hours ago.

It is a tool with a function to perform, so perform the function it will.

* * *

 

* * *

Just as Talon sets the pen down and rises from the seat, one of the new Talons in training arrives with a summoning from the Grandmaster.

Talon nods once and grabs the goggles of the mask from the hood, slipping them onto its head as it exits the quarters for the main Chamber where the Owls all assemble for Talon’s audience before the Court.

The hood was forgone because…

Talon had simply decided so.

Pausing in the hallway, Talon exhales a small sigh and sprints back to retrieve the hood before rushing back toward the Chamber.

Owls, Talon had learned early on, are not very patient.

Just before entering, Talon puts on the retrieved hood, slipping the accompanying goggles on over. Uniform complete, Talon enters the room, stopping and kneeling only once it has reached the center of the room facing the Grandmaster with its head bowed. The brightness in the room makes Talon’s eyes burn despite the goggles due to the extreme light sensitivity.

Talon speaks not a word.

“Talon. Is there a valid reason for the delay in your arrival?” Grandmaster’s voice rings powerfully and strongly throughout the circular room. The force behind Grandmaster’s voice raised it at the same time; the volume is close to deafening with Talon’s keen hearing.

It has no valid reasoning to offer if it should wish to appease the Grandmaster, so it answers honestly. “None, sire.” Talon’s voice is pathetic if compared to Grandmaster’s. Talon’s voice is not as deep or resonating as Grandmaster’s is, despite it being deeper than Talon’s voice when it first arrived.

Talon mentally sighs.

Grandmaster hums for about a minute before speaking again. “Four hours with the disciplinaries await you in your return from your new assignment.”

Talon’s heart skips several beats at the sentence and it steels itself.

A tool. That is all Talon is. An object to obey every order; every sentencing; every command issued, no matter any objections it might have.

“Yes Grandmaster,” it answers.

Grandmaster nods once. “Good. Talon Udesis will be your disciplinarian for the duration of your punishment.” Talon’s chest feels like it collapsed in on itself at the words. Charles would deal Talon’s punishment.

It does not matter anymore.

Just Talon. A tool. Nothing more.

The Grandmaster continues speaking monotonously. “As for your new assignment, a new candidate running for mayor threatens our influence over Gotham’s government. You should know your role. Remove the threat within thirty-two hours and leave no trace other than the usual.

"Do I make myself clear, Talon?”

Talon focuses on breathing calmly before forcing out a dull answer. “Yes sire.”

Grandmaster hums before concluding. “Very well. The necessary details have been placed in your quarters. You are to leave within two and a half hours. If you have not departed by then, an additional six hours will be added to your punishment.” Grandmaster paused for what Talon suspects to be effect. “You know what will happen should you fail Talon.”

Shivers run along Talon’s body at the unspoken threat. It does indeed know the repercussions if it fails. The punishment for failure is why Talon never fails anymore.

The punishments are why Talon’s hair went white.

Grandmaster speaks once more.

“Dismissed.”

With that, Talon rises, bows, and exits the Chamber, heading to its quarters with a blank mind and expression.

The regardless awaiting punishment is irrelevant, now, compared to the punishment of failure.

Talon has a job to execute precisely, so execute the job with precision it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked!


	3. Go down that road again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pausing on a rooftop for an unnecessary break, Talon sits on the edge with its legs dangling off the building. It sighs, eyes closing and head tilting downward. Times where Talon relaxes are rare but, as it lets the smoky Gotham air fill its lungs and the sounds of the rather peaceful morning city rings in its ears, Talon decides it should do this more often.
> 
> …until it hears a camera shutter click.
> 
>  
> 
> Or, the chapter where Talon meets a certain camera-happy someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this was probably my favorite chapter to write because of who is introduced in it :D

_Chapter Two_

Jovan Lombardi. Italian. Moved to Gotham when he was seven to live with his father after his mother died in a robbery gone wrong. Sixty-four years of age, white skin, green eyes, and 6'1" tall. Never went to college but did enroll in the GCPD academy. Retired cop running for mayor. Lives in City Hall district*, and has been employed as a security guard for the past ten years in Wayne Enterprises.

Talon re-folds its notes. There had been more information on the file it’d been given, but Talon only found some of it relevant.

For example. The file had detailed Lombardi’s regular breakfast and the time he left his house. Talon only found the latter information relevant, so it’d been included in the notes. There had also been dinner time and time of return. Talon only fount the arrival time relevant.

If there is one complaint, however, it would be the target’s neighborhood. Talon absolutely hates City Hall district. The houses are too close together and the house numbers are so small—it’s annoying.

With a sigh, Talon glances at the watch on its wrist.

07:13 blinks back up at it.

Talon has been sitting on the ledge above the entrance to Lombardi’s home for two hours and twelve minutes. It always has a maximum of five hours to spend on an assignment, and two of five have already gone by.

…Talon has waited for longer before.

According to the information gathered by the Court, Jovan Lombardi should be leaving in seventeen minutes. Now Talon is left with only one problem—one it’s been struggling with for two hours and twelve minutes.

Boredom.

Being unoccupied, Talon decides to practice its’ acrobatics. It does a handstand, holding the position for three minutes before shifting onto only one hand. This position Talon holds for another three minutes. With a short huff, Talon slowly bends its arm to begin doing one-armed push-ups.

Talon does it for four minutes with the right arm before switching to the left and doing the sort-of routine over again.

It is amazing, to Talon, how nobody has noticed. It would seem Lombardi is the only early bird in this block.

How boring.

Initially, Talon supposed it had to be cautious. This target is a dangerous one who works in ensuring security, so odds had been the man would know how and where to install security cameras.

Apparently not.

Lombardi has cameras pointed at windows, entrances, the driveway, the yard and the corners, but none pointing up. Really, in a city with vigilantes, you’d think people would use common sense—especially former officers and current security guards. Utterly disappointing.

Slowly, Talon re-positions itself and checks the watch again.

07:27

Talon sighs. The next three minutes pass at a snail’s pace but, when they do, Talon is tensed and ready.

At precisely seven thirty, Lombardi exits the house. When he turns to lock the door, Talon drops down behind him silently and presses a small blade against Lombardi’s neck. The man freezes, hands going still on the doorknob.

Talon nudges Lombardi forward.

Some may not think it but few Talons kill with a preference of location. Talon is one of them.

Lombardi starts to open the door but Talon notices a very subtle shift in his stance, and is therefore prepared when Jovan tries to elbow it in the gut. Talon growls, having caught the arm with its free hand and, in one swift movement, Lombardi’s elbow is dislocated with Talon’s other hand slapping over his mouth to muffle the cry of pain. Once the weak attempt at escape is over, Talon shoves Lombardi forward more forceful. This time he obeys and opens the door, stepping inside with Talon still holding the blade lightly against his jugular.

Once they’re both in the house, Talon kicks the door shut behind them.

Talon shoves Lombardi, removing the blade from his throat, and trades the nondescript knife for the one with the Court’s logo on the end of the handle. The only trace of the Court’s hand in this.

Lombardi stumbles, barely catching himself, and whips around to face his attacker for the first time. When his eyes land on Talon’s intricate uniform, it says, “The Court of Owls have sentenced you to death.”

Jovan Lombardi barely has any time to process the words before Talon’s blade buries itself in his chest, piercing his heart.

Talon watches Lombardi’s face finally— _finally_ —express fear as he takes his final, strained breaths. It watches as Lombardi crumbles to the ground, hands hovering over the blade. It tilts its head at the dead body that is left a few minutes later, and the growing pool of blood, before stepping over the body carefully to go wipe the security recordings.

As it walks to Lombardi’s former bedroom, Talon looks at the decorations on the walls of the hallway. Pictures are sprinkled on the amber-painted surfaces. Most of them are from Jovan’s time in the GCPD; the time he graduated from officer to detective, when he met the mayor of Gotham, when he met Thomas Wayne, and other mundane things. No family photos. Just awards, trophies, medals, and celebratory pictures. Talon merely shakes its head, entering the vacant room and easily locating the small security setup in the closet. Talon can’t help but wonder: why the closet? There are other rooms available—well, they’re all available now—like the attic, or garage. Either of those choices would have been smarter.

Once Talon has finished wiping the discs, and once he has pocketed them, it exits the house from the window of the attic. Maybe Lombardi didn’t put the setup in the attic because of the window? It would have been good reasoning…

Talon ponders Lombardi’s choice as it makes its way back to the main city.

Pausing on a rooftop for an unnecessary break, Talon sits on the edge with its legs dangling off the building. It sighs, eyes closing and head tilting downward. Times where Talon relaxes are rare but, as it lets the smoky Gotham air fill its lungs and the sounds of the rather peaceful morning city rings in its ears, Talon decides it should do this more often.

…until it hears a camera shutter click.

Talon whips its head toward the sound, instantly alert, and is met with the sight of a small, ink-haired, bright blue-eyed boy. And does the child ever look afraid.

Tension bleeds from Talon’s body and it shifts to a standing position, eyes still on the small boy. As it stares, Talon realizes the child looks tiny. Like a small fledgling.

As the boy scrambles back, tripping and landing on his butt, Talon merely wonders why such a small child is out alone at this time.

Slowly Talon begins to approach the cowering boy, arms out to the sides and open palms facing him, as it tries to show it means no harm.

Why would it hurt an innocent boy for being curious? A memory tries to force its way back to Talon’s mind, but struggles to and fails, and leaves quick as it wanted to be, never to be thought on again.

The boy whimpers and tries scuttling further back on the gravelly rooftop with the camera dangling from his neck and, okay, Talon supposes the kid is smart to fear a Talon from the Court of Owls, but it won’t hurt him!

Getting a bit frustrated, Talon crouches and tilts its head at the boy, extending a deadly gloved hand.

The boy hesitantly lifts the camera, and Talon is unsure what the boy is asking with the motion, so it does not move. The child ends up snapping a picture, to Talon’s surprise, and takes a slow look at Talon.

Not sure what to do, Talon merely reaches a bit further and opens its palm wider.

The boy stares at the sharp-tipped glove for about a minute before inching closer to Talon’s hand. He extends his own, tiny hand and hesitates for a second, before touching Talon’s glove and taking its hand.

Under the mask, Talon…

Smiles.

The boy gives his own small, shy grin, then speaks.

“Hi… You’re a Talon, aren’t you?” The question is asked curiously, with great interest, and Talon finds itself nodding.

“Can you talk?”

It hesitates at this question. Should Talon tell the truth? No. No, it can’t risk any more than it already is. Plus, the boy would ask too many questions, Talon can tell.

Talon shakes its head and the boy frowns a bit, scooting closer. “O-okay. My name’s Tim. Tim Drake.” He tilts his head. “I’ve never met a Talon before… Nice or otherwise.”

 _Charles is the nicer one. He’d talk to you._ Talon removes its’ hand from the boy’s.

He’s about to say something when Talon holds up a hand to cut him off. Gesturing to the watch on its wrist, Talon tries to get its fledgling to understand that Talon needs to leave.

Talon does a mental double-take at its thoughts. Talon’s fledgling? What? It’s just met the boy! This is—it can’t be—

Talon gives a small huff at itself.

Tim sighs but nods.

Talon returns the gesture, straightening and patting its fledgling’s head, before flipping off the rooftop onto a neighboring one.

As it returns to the Nest, all Talon can find itself thinking about is the small, innocent new fledgling. How someone can be so… pure, is beyond Talon’s comprehension.

 

* * *

The second it enters the Nest, Talon is swarmed upon and roughly incapacitated. Its hood is harshly yanked from its head and Talon growls, lip curling.

“That is not Talon Udesis,” Grandmaster’s voice rings out in a cold, clipped tone. “Leave it be.”

Talon shakes itself free, glaring at the other Talons assembled before asking the newer one what is going on with Charles.

“Talon Udesis has abandoned the Court,” it explains, eyes narrowing. “Udesis has abandoned _you_.”

 _So he really did it. Congratulations, Charlie. Find the Bat before the Owls find you._ Talon bends to pick the hood up from the floor, gripping it loosely in its hands. Briefly glancing into the golden goggles, Talon catches a glimpse at its eyes.

They’ve finally turned a solid, vibrant gold. Both of them.

Shaking its head, Talon puts the hood back on and makes its way to its private quarters.

Four hours of discipline are soon to arrive. That is all Talon can think about, now, as it arrives to the room.

Talon heaves a soundless sigh.

Well, at least it completed the assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *City Hall district is a thing!
> 
> THANK YOU LOVELY READERS AND HAVE AN AMAZING WEEK!


	4. It's all the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon screams its throat raw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient, guys ^^ I have this fic posted on ff.net, too, and it's been months since I'd updated it there. For y'all lucky ducks it's been maybe a week or two? Haha, anyways. I hope you guys enjoy!

_Chapter Three_

It is choking, gasping for air that it will never inhale, swallowing water in the vain attempts for oxygen. Talon’s vision is blurred by the water surrounding it as bubbles of the oxygen Talon so desperately covets are expelled from its mouth and nostrils. Water rushes into Talon’s throat and it chokes on the liquid, thrashing in the chains that trap it in vain attempts to free itself.

Talon’s body begins to convulse at the lack of air, vision going spotty.

What the worst part about this is? Talon can do nothing but choke on the water. It cannot die. All it can do is feel its lungs crowd with water and yearn for oxygen it might never breathe, and eventually black out from asphyxiation.

Hours pass before Talon feels the water in the tank draining, its body sinking along with the until it lies limp on the ground, Talon coughing up all the water in its lungs as it lies there, unmoving.

As the oxygen returns to its brain and it becomes aware of everything again, Talon is hefted up by its arms and dragged to a chair where it is unceremoniously dumped.

Pain flares up Talon’s head from the impact it makes on the ground, but the only reaction is a subtle hitch in its breath, and the action jarred its lungs even more to force more water from its lips.

It is dragged onto the chair before it is strapped down to it with thick, rough leather straps on its wrists and legs.

This is something Talon is unfamiliar with.

Talon’s head is fuzzy and numb; it feels like everything is hazy and muddled.

One of the other Talons—a Senior Talon from all the gold embellishments adorning its uniform—stepped forward holding a simple blade in-hand.

A mere glance at the weapon has Talon jerking back and thrashing in the bonds. Even with a hazy mind Talon can recognize the glowing yellow liquid on the edges of the blade. The liquid that was specifically engineered to elicit immense pain for Talons. The liquid every Talon fears and makes a point to avoid being subjected to.

“N—n— _nnn!”_ The fog in Talon’s mind is clearing but slowly. All it can manage is the single noise—it’s all that Talon can manage to say; all it remembers.

For all the response the Senior Talon offers, it may as well have been nothing as the Talon walks until it stands right in front of Talon’s thrashing body. The Talon reaches out with a hand and digs its fingers into Talon’s scalp, the extremely sharp tips of the glove the Talon wears cutting into Talon’s head harshly, forcing Talon to still as it pushes Talon’s head back.

Talon is given no time to prepare for what comes next as the Senior Talon thrusts the blade into Talon’s chest and twists it.

Searing pain races through Talon’s veins and it arches off the chair as much as possible, mouth opening in a shriek of agony, heart hammering against its chest. Its vision had exploded in white stars when the blade’s _tip_ pierced its skin—the entire blade being buried to the hilt then twisted? The sound to tear from Talon’s throat is inhuman. Its chest heaves and the pain pulses with every frantic beat of its heart.

But the Senior Talon wasn’t done.

Without so much as a twitch or millisecond of hesitation the blade that the Talon still holds is dragged downward, cutting through flesh, muscle, and leather like a hot knife would part butter. The mind-numbing pain ripping throughout Talon’s body is immeasurable and it blacks out for what feels like seconds before there’s a sharp _snap_ sound and Talon feels the broken rib, swallowing the shriek of pain and instead screaming through gritted teeth.

The Senior Talon held up a bloody hand, and in it was Talon’s broken rib, though Talon could barely make it out through the blurriness of its vision.

At this point, Talon should have expected what happens next. The other Talon removes the blade from Talon’s chest only to cut its arm open—which prompts another cry of pain—and force the rib bone into a space where it would fit. Then the Senior Talon stood back and watched, waiting. Talon isn’t sure what the other waits for, until it _feels_ it.

The rib bone started to migrate back to where it belonged, cutting and forcing its way through muscle and tendons excruciatingly.

Immortality. A torture.

Just before the bone settles, the Senior Talon steps forward to cut the healed flesh and muscle of Talon’s chest open again to repeat the process.

Talon screams its throat raw.

* * *

 

Hours later Talon is left in its room, broken, bloody, and sporting a new implant in its neck. Talon doesn’t know what it’s for, but the exhaustion and pain wore to the bone. Instead of dwell on the harsh discipline it’d just received, Talon collapsed boneless on its bed, eyes dim and resigned, everything aching.

As its eyes slid shut, Talon figured a nap wouldn’t be too bad.

The sound of the doorknob turning is what has Talon on its feet in an instant, fatigue suddenly unimportant, back straight as it could be as it continued to minutely correct itself after being repeatedly broken and cut open. Talon catches a glimpse of itself in the mirror and sees a bruise blooming on its left cheek before the door opens and Talon’s gaze snaps forward to the wall of the room.

“Talon,” a silky voice speaks. Talon doesn’t respond but to bow its head slightly. “Look at me as I speak to you, weapon,” the voice snaps.

Talon obeys, sliding its golden eyes to meet the black eyes of a white mask. A Master, Talon instantly knows, both because of the mask and dress. The Master wears black slacks, a black button-up shirt, a white vest, and a white tie. A stark contrast to the Talons who serve the Owls and Masters.

Owls and Masters are different, in one way. Owls wear pins on their ties and dresses, and their masks have a small dot on the forehead, the Court’s small crest. Behavior-wise, Owls never interact with their Talons. Only the Masters do.

The Master holds an arm out, a manila folder in the extended hand which Talon accepts with deft movements.

Still Talon does not speak.

“Read up on your new assignment, weapon. You do not have any time limit for this target due to the threat level.” With a sharp click of the tongue, the Master comments snidely on Talon’s battered appearance and exits, expensive shoes squeaking slightly on the smooth rock floor.

Only when the door is closed does Talon again go boneless on its bed. The folder Talon keeps tightly clutched in a hand, the session it’d just had with the Disciplinaries fresh in its mind and irrationally making Talon fear that if it allowed anything to mess up with the contents inside the folder, there would be pain sure to come.

Talon swallowed thickly, hating itself for being afraid, but unwilling to close its eyes for every time it did it saw and remembered everything that happened with vivid, painful clarity. A powerful shudder tore through it, but Talon forces its mind elsewhere. Dwelling on the trauma would do it no good. It has a new assignment to see through, and it needs to get details on its new target before it can do anything.

With the objective of getting information in mind, Talon sat up on the plush bed and slid a gauntleted finger between the flaps of the folder, opening it. The first thing Talon sees makes it freeze, and it is sure its eyes are wide.

That… That was a picture of Charlie, there, paperclipped to the edge of the first paper, granted that he looked younger.

Something in its gut twisted violently but Talon ignored it, licking at its lips and biting at the lower one before tearing its gaze away from the smiling boy to read the information on the file.

_Full Name: Charles Otto Udesis_

_Date Of Birth: November 11, 1991_

_Age: 13_

_Blood Type: A_

_Ethnicity: English-American_

_Skin: White_

_Eyes: Grey_

_Distinguishing features (if any): Birthmark on left side of chin_

_Reason for Talon potential: Udesis survives in the Bowery with his mother, father, and little sister. His father works as an un-corrupt officer in the GCPD, his mother works wherever will hire, Otto Udesis himself does not work, and neither does his sister. Udesis excels in his classes and shows great physical prowess. He obeys every command issued to him by his family without hesitation. With certainty I say that if his father told him to jump off a bridge, the boy will do it without a second thought. Obedience and physical capabilities are why I recommend the boy._

The signature of who wrote this… This recommendation is unreadable, but Talon finds that it rather not know just who subjected Charles to this life.

Again swallowing thickly, Talon checks the year this was filled.

_August 16, 2005._

Talon’s target is Charles.

Talon’s target is Charles.

_Talon’s target is Charlie._

With a deep breath, Talon closes its eyes and focuses on its emotions—that are haywire—to utterly tramp them down. _Charles,_ was a Talon. Just as Talon itself is. Talon has an _obligation_ and Charlie _knew_ this—it’s not Talon’s fault that Charlie decided to… to… to _leave._ From what Talon read, the Court gave him a better life: food, shelter, training to defend himself, safety, and only asked for one thing in return.

Grip on the folder in its hands tightening so much that the thing starts to tear, Talon gritted its teeth.

 _Damn it Charlie,_ it mentally snarled, a low growl slipping past its lips outwardly.

Damn him for doing this to Talon. Charlie was Talon’s _friend—_ the last thing Talon wants to do is _hunt_ him. Especially because it knows the look Charlie will give him. The one that he shouldn’t be able to give because he’s a _Talon_ that went through the same thing Talon itself did, and it makes no sense how someone can go through that and manage to be sympathetic and understanding like that. It wasn’t _fair_ because Talon came out like _this_ and Charlie came out like _that_ and—

Talon cut its thoughts off savagely, eyes snapping open, hands slamming the folder shut, and hissed. This was ridiculous. Talon refuses to start being jealous of its only friend, when they’ve known each other for the entirety of Talon’s time with the Court.

Talon stood and went to set the folder on the dresser. There was no information in that folder that would help Talon locate Charlie, unless he had his memories. In which case Charlie would immediately seek out his sister, at least to make sure she was okay and alive, before finding the Bat.

But Talon wasn’t supposed to know anything of Charlie’s plans to escape. Essentially, it had nowhere to start. It could give Charlie as much time as possible before the Court grew suspicious of his lack of progress, so that is what Talon would do.

Mind made up with grim finality, Talon began to sharpen its blades as it waited for thirty more minutes to pass. Then it would leave to start the “hunt”.

Out of obligation Talon would track its friend. Out of choice would it postpone the foreseeable inevitable as long as possible to give its friend a chance.


End file.
